


New Year's Ball(s)

by deklava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Sex, M/M, New Year's Eve, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade was going to spend a relaxing New Year's Eve alone with his favourite sex toy. Then someone else decided to play, making things much more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Ball(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyElayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyElayne/gifts), [buckybearstare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybearstare/gifts), [cookieswillcrumble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookieswillcrumble/gifts), [ButterscotchCandybatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterscotchCandybatch/gifts), [Lygtemanden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lygtemanden/gifts).



> This New Year's Eve fic is a gift to LadyElayne, Cinderlilly33, cookieswillcrumble, ButterscotchCandybatch, Lygtemanden, and everyone who's followed and supported my fics. Thank you all :)

As Lestrade walked out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair, he tried to convince himself that spending New Year’s Eve in his own flat was actually a good thing.

He still missed his wife -they hadn’t gotten along, sure, but coming home with a bagful of Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve and eating leftovers the next day had not been as liberating as he’d thought. To make New Year’s Eve less of a downer, he’d gone for drinks with Dimmock and some other Yarders at the pub, and now he was prepared for a nice, sexy evening with his favorite toy- the one that never let him down.  

The toy that Sherlock Holmes now held in his hands.

******

Lestrade nearly dropped the towel. Wrapping it around his hips and flushing, he demanded, “Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?”

“John and I have a case tonight. Mrs. Hudson threw out the box where I keep all your ID, and I need another.” When Lestrade stared at him, Sherlock sighed. “I pick your pocket when you’re annoying. And having a police ID comes in rather handy.”

“So that’s where all my badges disappeared to!” Lestrade stalked into the room. “Look- get out of here. And- and put that back.”

He gestured to the gleaming black anal beads the detective was still examining like it was crime scene evidence. Which it might end up being if he didn’t put it away soon.

When Sherlock ignored him, Lestrade grabbed for the toy, but the younger man gracefully dodged him and took several steps back, still running the beads through his long white fingers.

“What are these, Lestrade? They were on your bed.”

“Sherlock, I swear to God, if you don’t-”

“Ah!” Sherlock’s grey eyes lit up. “Your reaction indicates extreme embarrassment, which isn’t justifiable unless you don’t want me to know what you do with them. Therefore, they’re a type of sex toy.”

Hearing Sherlock Holmes say ‘sex toy’ with the same flat practicality that he would say ‘fingerprints’ or ‘DNA’ was one of the sexiest things Greg Lestrade had ever heard. He’d always found the tall, raven-haired consulting detective strangely beautiful: that lithe body, pale skin, and dark-chocolate voice aroused feelings that had been dormant since his sexually adventurous uni days.  But he’d never acted on them: he was (until recently) married and Sherlock’s sex drive appeared to be nonexistent.

“Alright, fine,” he snapped. “They’re a sex toy. Happy now?”

_Just put them down and get out of here before my towel can’t hide the evidence any longer._

“You put these inside yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, damn it!”

“How does it feel?”

Cheeks burning, Lestrade tried to keep his towel in place and grab for the beads at the same time. He failed on both counts. Sherlock easily dodged him, sending him stumbling onto the bed. The towel hit the floor when he used both hands to catch himself.

“Damn it,” he choked, not bothering to cover up any more. “Take my ID- take my goddamned medals if you want them- but put those things down and get out.”

Silence ensued. Lestrade stared at the duvet pattern, trying to control his breathing- and his arousal. Then footsteps crossed the floor and a cool palm descended on his heated back.

“John doesn’t have anything like these, so I have no data. Lestrade, will you show me how you use them?”

******

_Oh my God. I’ve got to be dreaming._

“Sherlock.” Lestrade winced as his cock jerked against his belly. Part of him was still mortified by this whole situation and wanted to tell the other man to piss off. But the idea of Sherlock Holmes watching as he fed one slick bead after another into his greedy hole made his mouth go dry and his knees actually began to shake. When he felt the mattress dip as Sherlock sat on its edge, Lestrade made a low noise deep in his throat.

“Actually,” Sherlock said, his voice as brisk and practical as ever, “I’d prefer to put them in you myself. I’m less likely to delete the data that way.”

“What,” Lestrade managed, “would you ever need that data for?”

He lifted his face from the duvet and stared over his shoulder. Sherlock was studying him in a manner best described as possessive.

“For the next time we do this,” he said.

******

As far as Greg Lestrade knew, only John Watson had any luck saying no to Sherlock Holmes. Molly Hooper couldn’t. Neither could Mrs. Hudson, although she did a great job of clucking and fussing beforehand.  Even the domineering Mycroft Holmes capitulated to his little brother- a lot.

As he positioned himself with his shoulders lowered and arse in the air, watching as Sherlock carefully lubed the first bead. Lestrade hoped he could last. He had gotten harder while telling the other man where the lube was and how much to apply, and the way his cock was leaking onto the crumpled towel right now, he doubted his self-control.

“A favour,” Sherlock said as he rubbed Lestrade’s twitching rim with his lube-slick thumb. “Do try to last. I want to see your reaction when you have all five inside you.”

“That’s- that’s not something I can control.”

“John’s girlfriends say he can go for hours before orgasming. Shall I text him for suggestions?”

Knowing he was serious, Lestrade gasped, “No!” At the same time, his hips pushed back of their own volition, trying to urge Sherlock’s digit past the rim.

The detective beamed with barely suppressed pride at the response. Lestrade saw his face take on the same expression every time John -or anyone else, for that matter- praised him.

“This is utterly fascinating,” he murmured. “We must do this more often.”

Lestrade groaned. Sherlock had removed his coat and scarf and rolled up the sleeves of his purple shirt, but he was otherwise completely composed and absorbed in the task that was literally at hand.

Lestrade, however, was anything but composed. When he felt the first bead push into him, he shifted on the mattress and concentrated on not coming.

“Fuck,” he said behind clenched teeth. “ _Fuck_.”

“I’d like to try that next,” Sherlock said casually as he tugged on the string and watched his plaything shiver in response.

Lestrade bit his wrist. Clear and sticky precum was pulsing freely from his cock onto the towel. The thought of the impulsive and beautiful Sherlock Holmes fucking him until they both broke out in sweat and came like firehoses froze the breath in his throat.

The second bead was going in now. It was bigger than the first, stretching him wider and firing off every nerve in that already-sensitive area. Once again Sherlock toyed with him, jerking lightly on the string and watching him strangle the duvet as the beads shifted inside him.

“Extraordinary,” the younger man said. “I didn’t realise sexual activity could be so fascinating. The primal responses. The victory of body over mind.”

The lube bottle opened again. Lestrade closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation as the third bead stretched his rim. Instead of pushing it in, Sherlock let it linger, staring as Lestrade’s aching hole clenched and spasmed around it.

“Do better,” he scolded lightly, “if you ever hope to accommodate my erection.”

_Oh fuck...._

Lestrade breathed deeply and forced himself to relax more. Sherlock finally showed some semblance of mercy and pushed the bead in, only to force the fourth into him at the same time. The policeman cried out and tears burned the corners of his eyes.

“Sherlock-”

“Last one,” the detective announced. He paused for so long that Lestrade opened his eyes and started to turn around. The sharp pleasure of the final, biggest bead breaching his sore hole and crowding the others across his prostate made him scream.

“Fuck, oh my God, it’s too much, fuck _please_.”

“Nonsense.” Sherlock gave the string a firmer tug. Lestrade yelped again as the largest bead popped halfway out and held him open. It hurt, but he was so turned on that his self-control was eroding fast.

“I’m telling you, man, I’m going to-”

Sherlock cut him off by pulling the bead out all the way. Lestrade convulsed at the sensation, and tried to catch his breath, but the other man was too impatient for a drawn-out finish. Sherlock pulled out the remaining beads one by one, beaming as Lestrade came so hard that his release coated the towel and even dripped onto the duvet.

When Sherlock circled his sore rim with one fingertip, another wave of pleasure rippled through his shattered nerves and he actually came again. As his cock drooled onto the already-sodden towel, he moaned, “Oh my God, Sherlock. Where did you learn-”

“John’s laptop.”

“Shit.” Lestrade rolled onto his side, revelling in the dull yet pleasurable ache in his balls and arse. It had been far too long since he had given himself to another man like this, and had forgotten how good it felt to lie there and submit.

He doubted that Sherlock really intended to do this again: the detective’s curiosity about anal beads appeared to have been satisfied, so he’d be on to the next adventure.

“Are you still sore?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

Lestrade cracked one eye open. “A bit, but it’s good. Christ, it’s good. Why?”

Sherlock stood and undid his trim black trousers. “I’m no longer curious, but I am rather aroused,” he said. “You don’t mind, do you Lestrade? You’re always so obliging.”

_Presumptuous sod._ Anyone else would have slapped that lordly face. But Lestrade’s pulse quickened in anticipation. If he hadn’t come so hard already, the thought of Sherlock taking his well-used arse would have made him shoot again.

“Condom,” he managed. “Top drawer.”

He closed his eyes again and trembled in excitement as he listened to the drawer open, the rip of a foil packet, and the whisper of unrolling latex. Then the mattress shifted and he was being positioned on his back with his legs over a pair of slender shoulders. When he felt the hot, slick head of Sherlock’s generous-sized erection against his still-sensitive hole, Lestrade gripped the duvet until his knuckles went pale.

“Do it,” he begged, voice barely a whisper.

Sherlock slid into his overheated body easily, bottoming out in a single steady push. Once inside, he tossed his head and frowned in concentration, clearly searching his data bank for his next move. After a second or two his face cleared and he moved his slim hips in small circles, rubbing against Lestrade’s prostate.

“Christ, Sherlock!” the policeman hissed, squirming. “Easy- so sensitive!”

Sherlock cocked his head, a rosy sex-flush colouring his pale face. “You’re about to experience a dry orgasm in the next ten seconds,” he said, sounding breathless for the first time. He held his body upright with one hand and used the other to wank Lestrade’s still-trembling cock. “John- ah- John told me they’re possible but I’ve never seen or experienced one.”

He drove into the older man’s body so hard that the mattress springs went haywire, all the while keeping up the brisk hand movements. To Lestrade’s amazement, he came a third time but pain spiked the pleasure because his cock had no more to spill. He’d never felt anything like it in his life: the combination of agony and ecstasy made him sob and taste blood.

Lestrade was dimly aware of Sherlock gasping and pounding until his lanky body shuddered and the condom swelled with a gush of warmth. Then the detective collapsed, pressing their sweaty, heaving chests together.

For a few minutes, all was silent save their breathing. Then Sherlock murmured against the policeman’s shoulder, “Thank you for the lesson. Much more satisfactory than John’s laptop.”

Lestrade turned his head and pressed a kiss into those damp curls. “Even a genius has a lot to learn, eh?”

“A teacher is occasionally useful,” Sherlock conceded before closing his eyes. Lestrade held him closer just as London exploded in New Year’s joy outside the window.

2015 was definitely off to a perfect start.


End file.
